


Broken

by Fyre



Category: Thor (Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-31 07:38:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1029029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes words can do untold damage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken

**Author's Note:**

> This is entirely based on The Dark World, so naturally, epic spoilers.

You might want to take the stairs on the left.

Words that should not have been said, but had been said nonetheless. Words that had guided the enemy into the heart of the Royal Palace of Asgard. Words that had led a blade straight through the heart of the only person worth anything.

Loki’s hands and feet were bleeding.

He couldn’t remember why.

He remembered the words that were said to him by the guard. Not even Odin or Odinson. Not even one of the merry band of heroes. No. Just a guard, who spoke of his own volition, not under any orders or commands. 

He remembered nodding, rising, and the calm before the storm. 

The rage and grief had torn through him like wildfire. No. Not like fire. Not for a child of Jotunheim. Like ice. Every drop of blood in his veins turned to ice, numbing every part of him until he could feel nothing.

The world creaked and cracked and crumbled around him.

He remembered screaming until he was hoarse. He remembered beating at the walls, as if they had betrayed him. And he remembered the stillness that followed, as he saw that all of her last gifts lay shattered and broken.

She gave him so much to make him happy, even defying the Allfather to give him her companionship when he was meant to be forbidden any solace or comfort, and he had broken it all. He had broken everything.

You might want to take the stairs on the left.

He looked at his hands.

There should have been pain with the blood. There should have been. There was always pain with blood, after all. 

Did she bleed? Did she? Did she hurt? Was she afraid? Did she suffer?

Loki keened quietly, his trembling fingers curling against his palms.

Stairs on the left.

He’d told the beast the way. He might as well have held the sword.

In the world above, they would be lighting the ships. She would have a hero’s funeral, he knew, worthy of the beloved of the Allfather. The beloved of all of Asgard. She was Queen after all, and loved by all, but most of all by her children.

Loki drew his knees up, burying his face in his arms, his hands wrapped into his hair. His nails bit into his scalp and he smothered wracking sobs. The world outside his cell would only see him pacing in the wreckage, and that was all he would allow. 

He could not let them see him as he drew himself as tight and small as he might, and wept for the woman who had soothed his nightmares and comforted him even when he was called a criminal and locked away with the scum of their land.

You might want to take the stairs on the left.

Had he been free, he might have defended her.

No one else had.

If the Allfather and Thor were so powerful, why had they not been there to save her? Why had they wasted time? How could they leave her unprotected from such a threat?

She wasn’t weak. 

No, he knew that well, but against an opponent like that beast? Their best guards had crumpled like paper at its touch. And it had found her, and touched her, and now, somewhere far above, they were lighting her ship, and saying farewell, and he was closed away in a hole in the ground. He would not be allowed to light the sky for her. He would not be allowed to say goodbye to the one person who still loved him.

You might want to take the stairs on the left.

It had killed her.

He didn’t know how, but he remembered how the guards had screamed at its touch. Shrivelled and twisted and curled in pain.

Loki knocked his head back against the wall behind him.

Stairs on the left.

What kind of fool was he to think that the creature would stop with warriors? The Dark Elves were not know for showing mercy. What kind of fool was he to unleash something like that in a world where she was?

He could remember the last time she had visited him, that image of herself. He could remember too well what he said, rash words, spoken in anger. She knew what a fool he was. She knew she was always his mother. She knew. She offered her hands to him, and how he wished he could have reached touched her.

The last time he had seen her, held her, was when she still believed him a good and loyal son, when he slayed Laufey before her eyes. She was so proud, so very proud of him. She embraced him, and for a moment, he felt like he was worthy of the crown she had granted him.

Then Thor returned, and the world fell apart.

Even on his return, she was not permitted to come close.

All he had left were the memories of that last embrace, and the fragments of the little comforts she had bribed and bullied his guards into providing. He unfolded his limbs, looking around the cell. The books were ashes, the furniture scattered in pieces across the floor. 

He reached out, picking up the shattered mirror. There was blood on the glass. His splintered reflection looked back at him. 

Footfalls were approaching, steps as familiar as his own, and he drew the illusion more closely around him, leaving the image of himself to speak to his brother. He wanted none today, not when Thor would see him as weak.

But, for the first time, Thor could see the truth.

“No more illusions,” he snapped, and Loki was too tired to argue.

The illusions fell away like mist, and he looked out dully at Thor. “Now you see me, brother,” he said, his hands lying limply in his lap. Thor stood tall and solid as ever, and Loki knew he looked weak. Pathetic. Broken.

He had no reason to care why Thor was there, but Odinson could answer one question that no one else would.

He didn’t know if he wanted to know in truth. If he had caused her so much pain, would he really want to know? But if he didn’t know, how would it change matters? She would still be dead, murdered by a hand he had guided. 

“Did she suffer?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

The way Thor’s eyes flicked away from him was answer enough.

Loki curled his fingers into fists, and listened as Thor spoke, a voice of desperation and grief and a man who wanted to save the mortal he loved. There was the chance of vengeance, to unleash hurts for hurts done to one they both loved.

Loki gazed at him, the great and mighty Thor, his big brother, the golden child, who was free and strong and capable, and yet had not been there for their mother. He would want to strike out too, of course, and if making a pact with the mortal-smitten oaf was the way to do it, then Loki knew it was a small price to pay to kill the beast that killed their mother.

“When do we start?” he asked, smiling a liar’s smile.


End file.
